… what was the question?

In school and college, I would wait until the last-minute … write something off the top of my head … then write the outline afterwards.

You know. The one that was supposed to help me write in the first place.

The results were predictable. (read: my grades were less than stellar)

Actually, one time I did it by the book. I guess I was going through a teenage type supernatural phase or something. Decided to do a term paper on Witchcraft.

Liseuse de microfiches Micron 355 (Photo credit: zigazou76)

So I did an outline. I went to the library and did the research. I got the books. I read the microfiche.

For those of you under the age of 100, microfiche was the filmed pictures of books … usually really old books … or newspapers.

And you sat in front of a gigantic microfiche reader to look at magnified images of whatever your research led you to.

I’m still not sure if it is pronounced micro-feesh or micro-fish. But either way, I used it.

Then I wrote the well-thought-out paper. Using the outline. Complete with footnotes and whatnot. And I got it done in advance of the due date.

Not far in advance, but in advance.

And I actually enjoyed the whole process. Finally. I understood. The whole idea of it. Yes, there was a reason for all that I had been taught. This was something I could do … and enjoy … assuming the topic was an enjoyable one.

I got an F on it.

Perhaps I spooked the professor. Who knows. All I know is that was the end of any writing I intended to do. Ever. Except for slight efforts at the remaining required writing. Which I did at the last possible minute … grudgingly … with no real proper effort or style.

Flash forward and yours truly has made a living at times doing Instructional Design, Technical Writing and what I called Reverse Documentation. You write the programs, I write the stuff afterwards to make it sellable. The Users Guides and whatnot.

Turns out I was good at learning obtuse Technical and speaking understandable English.

Go figure.

Which brings us to today. Well, technically this past weekend … at the lake … on the porch … when I decided that I was no good at this writing thing. And would quit.

At roughly the exact time I came to this decision up walked a woman I had met earlier in the year there. Who had been reading my blog faithfully since then.

Who liked it.

A fan.

Suffice it to say, she suggested … strongly … that I continue writing.

A few days later, I was talking to someone about the same thing. “I am not all that good at this. And nobody gets published unless they are really, really good.”

Can you spell “crisis of confidence”?

He said … and I quote … “You said you were going to give it a year. You made provisions so you could do that. You are not anywhere through the year yet. You said you would write a book. I don’t think you have even tried yet.”

Nothing like some friendly encouragement.

J. Michael Straczynski once said, on writing, “Like everyone else, I am going to die. But the words – the words live on for as long as there are readers to see them, audiences to hear them. It is immortality by proxy. It is not really a bad deal, all things considered.”

I hardly think I will ever rise to that level. But then there is my trusty blog here … a moment on your lips (or typing fingers) … forever on the internet.

I’m not sure I will ever be published. But I suppose I will continue to try to do this book thing.

Wish me luck.

I’m writing a book. I’ve got the page numbers done.
—- Steven Wright